


Who?

by MrsHamill



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crack, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-18
Updated: 2008-10-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6051696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a spot of trouble, are you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who?

**Author's Note:**

> Utter crack-y silliness. John's first words are by Alfred Bester from his brilliant _The Stars My Destination_ (who did, of course, first lift them from James Joyce --we are nothing if not first plagiarists). Thanks to Jadesfire for her lovely beta and comments, and to Sian for including this idiocy in the Constrict 'zine and for releasing it early.

"Oh, Johnny Sheppard is my name..."

"Shut up."

"Atlantis is my nation..."

"I said--"

"Deep space my dwelling place..."

"If you finish that, I'm going to--"

"The stars my destin-- OW!"

"I told you! I warned you!"

"I didn't deserve a crystal to my head!"

"Shut up. You have enough hair to deflect a bowling ball." Rodney scowled at the array currently above him, since he was flat on his back, half buried beneath the console. "Give me that multi-meter."

"Say please."

Pulling out just far enough to aim a glare at John, Rodney said, "Oh, please, pretty please, hand me that multi-meter so I just _maybe_ might be able to, oh, I don't know, , _fix the 'jumper_ so we can go home and don't _starve to death_ in the middle of fucking nowhere!"

"It wasn't _my_ fault," John replied, his voice prim as he handed Rodney the multi-meter. If it hadn't been so necessary, Rodney would have chucked that at John's head too. "You were the one trying to find the proper _harder, faster, right there!_ position, you were the one to put your fucking leg on the DHD--"

"And you were the one to suggest the whole thing in the first place! I was perfectly happy with sex in a sane, comfortable -- hand me those tweezers, no, not those, the bigger... the bigger ones! yeah, those -- bedroom, but no. 'Let's go have a picnic, McKay' you said, 'Let's have sex in the 'jumper, Rodney' you said--"

"Not that you were exactly complaining, you know."

"It wasn't _my_ idea to have sex in the cockpit! We have perfectly good cushions and sleeping bags and hey! I think there's even an air mattress back there, and--"

" _You_ thought it was romantic," John said, cocking his fingers in air quotes. "Have sex in the light of an emission nebula! How very romantic." He fluttered his eyelashes at Rodney.

"Forgive me, I was wrong. It wasn't romantic, it was stupid! And now we're stuck out here with cracked crystals and no way to dial the fucking 'gate on the edge of said 'romantic' emission nebula. I suppose we could always just hail a passing hive ship or maybe try for Atlantis in the 'jumper, which would take us, oh, I don't know, about a million years!"

"Not that long." John's voice was sulky as he slouched in the pilot's seat. "And we still have a half-full picnic basket. You'll figure it out sooner or later."

"Figure _what_ out?" Rodney slid out from under the console and jumped to his feet. "Whoa," he said as he swayed, "got up too fast." He rounded on Sheppard, shaking one finger -- and, incidentally, his spent dick -- at him. "You can't _fix_ something that's _broken_ if you don't have the _parts_ to get it _fixed_!" Still fuming, Rodney yanked his pants back on, depriving John of the view. He sulked and in retaliation, pulled his own pants on, then a t-shirt. It was getting a bit chilly.

"So, we'll have to wait for someone to figure out we're overdue and come get us." As he spoke, John realized he had put his t-shirt on backwards and spent some time trying to turn it without actually removing it. "What's our check in? Two hours? Three?"

"Um." Rodney was buried in his own t-shirt but didn't seem inclined to reply. 

"Rodney?"

"What?" Rodney sat in the co-pilot's seat and started trying to unknot his shoelaces.

"What's our check in time?"

"Um."

"McKay!"

"What?!"

John scrunched his eyes closed and rubbed his forehead. He felt a headache coming on and its name was McKay. "You didn't file a check-in did you."

"Well I didn't know, did I? I mean, I didn't want to stop whatever we were doing in order to check in, now, did I? We could have been in the middle of some delicate--"

"Not even _I_ can keep it up for longer than two hours, McKay!" John rubbed his eyes and contemplated homicide. Though that just might be a moot point. "How long?"

McKay blinked at him. "What? What's long?"

"Air, McKay," John gritted out. "How long before we _suffocate_ in this 'jumper?"

"Oh, that's not a problem," Rodney said. He got the laces undone and began putting his shoes back on. 

If there was one thing John didn't trust, it was easy answers from Rodney McKay. They were more likely to be precursors to really, really bad news. "And why would that be?"

"Um." Rodney got his left shoe on and began industriously re-tying the laces. John waited him out; he knew there would be more coming. "We'll... uh... we'll freeze to death before we run out of air. Or, more likely, starve. But it's okay! They'll come looking for us long before that happens." He finally looked up at John. "Because you _did_ tell them where we were going, right? You filed a..." Rodney trailed off and gaped at John.

So it was John's turn to evade. "Um."

"Oh my God you accused _me_ of screwing up and _you_ didn't even file a.. a... flight plan!"

John rolled his eyes and slumped in the pilot's chair. "No, I didn't. Yes, I fucked up as badly as you. Yes, I'm as screwed as you and--" John raised a finger when Rodney opened his mouth to speak "--no, absolutely NO sex jokes. I mean it."

Rodney's mouth pinched into a straight, white line. "Fine. We're stuck here until someone -- God alone knows who -- figures out we're missing, we're overdue, and figures out where the fuck we are. In the meantime, we've got a half full picnic basket and two gallons of water."

"And wine," John added sulkily.

"Yes, yes, there's wine, which we can save until we're ready to tear each other's throat out in frustration. Or until the rear compartment becomes so overwhelmed with smell from the honey bucket that we're forced to share the cockpit. I figure we have a week before I'm ready to _space you_."

"Yeah, and I love you too, McKay," John growled. "May I remind you this is as much your fault as mine?"

"Oh, shut up. Just shut up. Why the hell--"

"What the..." There was a strange, grinding sound and a rush of warm humid air coming from the aft compartment and John blinked at Rodney. "What...?"

"I..." They gaped at each other then turned. Where the rear hatch should be there was a door, a door that shouldn't be there, a door made out of what looked like wood, painted blue. "What?"

A young, pretty, blonde girl stepped out. "Hello," she said. "Need help?" She was small and pretty, wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

John turned to Rodney and back again. Both of them were silent and John figured he looked pretty much the way Rodney did -- that is, with his chin hanging down somewhere around his knees. Abruptly, absurdly, John was glad he'd dressed.

"There you are. In a spot of trouble, are you?" A man had joined the girl. He was of medium height with messy hair, dressed in a suit and tie and had a long coat over it. "Heard your distress call, came to see if we could help."

"Yeah, that's us, the bloody AA," the girl muttered. They were both speaking with a British accent which merely made the situation that much more surreal. 

"Now, then," the man said in a reproving voice.

"I..." John tried after a long moment of silence.

"You..." Rodney said, and the idea of Rodney without words was actually frightening.

John finally managed to push something out and was surprised at how banal it sounded. "Distress call?"

"No distress call," Rodney agreed, nodding frantically. "Wraith. Who _are_ you?"

"Sorry, I'm Rose Tyler. He's the doctor. And I heard your distress call, we both did. What's wraith?"

"No distress call," John said, agreeing with Rodney. Maybe there was something in the wine, some sort of hallucinogen...

"Oh, surely there was. That one." The man pointed a small thing (it looked like a pen with a glowing blue light at the end of it) at the DHD. Immediately a distress beacon flared to life, chiming throughout the 'jumper.

Rodney and John jumped and Rodney scrambled for the console to shut it down. "No! No distress call! Wraith!"

"Who the hell _are_ you?" John demanded as Rodney cut the beacon. "How the hell did you get on my 'jumper?" He was suddenly, uncomfortably aware that the only weapons in the 'jumper were in the back compartment, where the two unexpected, impossible visitors were standing.

The man stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled forward, the girl following in his wake. "Rose already said, I'm the Doctor." He pulled his left hand out of his pocket and looked at his watch. "A tad later than I wanted; must be a bit off, I think," he murmured.

"A bit off?" the girl demanded. "A _bit off_? That thing's been broken for _weeks_."

"Oh, now that's not right, you know it's not." He put his hand back in his pocket.

"Hello? Twelve hours becoming twelve months? I was lucky it wasn't twelve bloody years!"

"Oh, stop it. We have more important things here. Broken down, are you?"

John exchanged another look with Rodney. "Could the wine have had something in it?" John asked him in a quiet, panicked voice, hoping the answer would be yes.

"I..." Rodney looked at him helplessly before turning back. "How did you get in here? What _is_ that?"

"Oh, it's the TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimension in Space. Don't worry about it, the physics are a little complicated. Now then, what's happened and how can I help?"

John closed his eyes and winced, thinking never, ever imply that Rodney McKay might not know something. Sure enough, and right on cue, Rodney bristled. "I'll have you know I have Ph.D.s in astrophysics and mechanical engineering!"

"Oh! Brilliant!" The man -- the Doctor? -- grabbed Rodney's hand and pumped it. "Not often I get the chance to talk with a peer! Well, it's all wrapped up in quantum intersection, of course, adjusting the momentum of material elemental particles and forcing them to fall into synch with the universal constant. The TARDIS is only there in theory, inhabiting our discrete perception and allowing us to interpret it as a physical entity while it only exists as a wave form, coinciding with your natural ability to see four dimensions as three, since humans are incapable of discerning the flow of time as anything but a forward progression. I don't have that limitation, of course, being a Time Lord, but I limit myself to it so I'm able to see as you do, preventing visual paradoxes and keeping us all sane and happy in what you humans like to refer to as 'the real world.'"

John blinked. He'd never met anyone who could talk as fast as Rodney McKay, but this doctor guy pulled it off. And what was better, from the glazed expression on Rodney's face, he'd barely understood one word of it.

"Now then. A problem with this console? Why does this look so familiar? And we're not in the Milky Way, but unless I'm grossly off-course--" Interrupting himself, he turned to glare at the girl. "And I'm not," he said before continuing, "we're still in the early twenty-first century. Humans shouldn't be all the way out here for another... oh, hundred fifty years, at best?"

Rodney was apparently still beyond words so John answered. "We're an outpost. We use the stargate." What the hell, he thought, chances were good this was all just a hallucination anyway.

"I'm sorry?" Doctor or whatever his name was frowned and looked between them. "The what?"

"What's a stargate?" the girl asked.

Rodney had collapsed in the co-pilot's chair and seemed to be in some sort of shock, so John said, "The Stargate." In the face of their obvious confusion, he added, "The ring of the Ancestors? The chappa'ai?" He sighed as they showed no comprehension. "Okay, fine." He sat at the controls and used the thrusters to orient the 'jumper so it faced the Stargate. "That."

The guy reached into his coat and pulled out a pair of black-framed glasses before peering through the 'jumper's forward port. "Oh, brilliant! You're using the SWoT! When did you lot rediscover it? I thought it had been buried?"

"It... it was... the what?" John demanded weakly.

"Stable Wormhole Transport, of course, the SWoT! That's what Myrddyn called it, and he should know, since he invented it. Fantastic." The Doctor put his glasses away. "What do you call it? The stargate? Rose, take a look at that!"

"What does it do?" she asked, craning her neck to see the Stargate floating outside the 'jumper.

"He called it the SWoT?" John said, blinking in shock.

"It creates a stable wormhole between two discrete points in space. Almost instant transportation across whole galaxies! Man was bloody brilliant, even if he was a sot." The Doctor nodded. "Though his beer was better than... almost anything. Stargate is a much better name for it. Good on you."

"He called it the SWoT?" John repeated, looking between Rodney, the man called the Doctor and Rose Tyler.

"Well, that explains why this console looks so familiar then," The Doctor said, looking down at the DHD. "It must be the portable version of the SCoD. What's wrong with it then?"

John felt his mouth open and his lips move but no sound came out. He really, _really_ didn't want to know what SCoD stood for.

Rodney finally found his voice. "Cracked. The DHD. Cracked. Broke a couple of crystal housings." He waved toward the access panel, which was still gaping open.

The Doctor-person pulled out the glowing blue pen and crouched by the access. "Let's have a look, then," he said, so John figured the blue thing must be some kind of flashlight. The Doctor ended up nearly crawling inside as he inspected the area. "Oh, yes, I see, hmm. Definitely cracked." His voice was a little muffled. "I don't suppose you have replacement parts."

"Not for that, no." Rodney seemed to be recovering slightly, which was good as John still felt kicked in the stomach. The Ancients -- the stupid, slacker, asinine Ancients -- had called their Stargates SWoTs. He thought he might never recover from that ultimate insult.

"No, and the sonic screwdriver can't help with that, either." He pushed himself out of the access and got to his feet. "Console damage, it'll have to be taken apart and perhaps discarded. Well, then. Can't help you with that, but we could tow you in. Where's your base?"

John felt his eyes grow wide and he stared across at Rodney, who was also blinking in shock. "You can tow us?"

"Certainly, nothing to it. How far?"

"We're on Atlantis, it's--"

" _The_ Atlantis?" Both the Doctor and Rose spoke, then looked at each other in surprise. "The city that sank?" she said.

"Ah," he replied. "Yes. Well. I think they mean the... er, the bordello. And casino. Moved here a few million years ago from Earth?"

John buried his face in his hands. Of course Atlantis had been a bordello.

"And you would know this... how?" Rose asked in a dangerous voice.

"Well, yes, I mean, I had friends, it wasn't _all_ bordello, there was gambling and cinema and look, I think I know where it is, but wouldn't it be better to just go to a world where there's a functional SCoD?"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, John sat with Rodney and watched as a small, blue box, bearing the words "Police Public Call Box," towed them towards M3X-444, the closest planet with a Stargate. He was resolutely not thinking about the whole adventure, and said as much to Rodney. "We are never discussing this again."

"Sounds good." Rodney's voice sounded very strangled and he had been unusually silent. 

After a few moments, John added, "There's still wine."

"Good. Let's finish it off."

John rose and retrieved the bottle, which was mostly full. He took a healthy swig from it and passed it to Rodney, who did the same. "Next time I say anything about having a picnic?"

"Kick you in the nuts. Got it."

John gave Rodney a mild glare. "Oh, never mind," he muttered. "Hand me the bottle."

"You know," Rodney said, passing John the bottle, "he had your hair. You don't think you and he...?"

John closed his eyes and drained the wine from the bottle. "I hate you."

"Just saying."

end


End file.
